ZERO PARADES
field manual
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The script
1,293
The name 'Essilk #3' is painted in faded lettering above the arch.
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1
The novel lies where you left it, gathering expensive dust -- 'Blood Type: Hecatomb' by H. S. Lastra.
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21
The old dye factory gate, now the entryway to the Bazaar.
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1
The one personal touch in the otherwise sterile, bland clinic, the wall has been decorated with photographs, documents, evidence of Dr.…
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55
The open hatch beckons.
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The original factory wall, flame-scarred but still standing.
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1
The owner seems to be out of sight.
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THE PALACE OF CULTURE CRUMBLES, BUT OUTPOSTS LIVE ON.
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The pale, crisp glow of a reading lamp shines from the window.
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1
The parking lot's seat of power.
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1
THE PARTY ORGANISED ITSELF AGAINST THIS BOURGEOIS CONSTRUCT.
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1
The party started inside, continued out here.
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1
The phone rings, repeating its muted tone like a lover in your ear. There is no answer.
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63
The phosphorous glow of a Lumisol Elite 82. Cartoon figures dart on screen.
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1
The pink paper tab is no bigger than a fingernail. One side is decorated with a simple illustration of a cockerel.
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19
The pipe twists out from the concrete like the roots of a plumbing tree.
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60
The plank's a recent addition, no trace of rot.
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1
The planks are well worn.
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1
The platform is suspended above a sheer drop, cloud creeping beneath.
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1
The platform was built to accommodate a long-absent crowd of commuters.
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1
The press runs hot, so she has to crack a window.
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1
The question before you is the same one that obsessed Operant PROBABLE during the period of their precipitous decline.
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26
The ration pack crinkles as you turn it over.
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100
The receiver awaits your hand.
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13
The regular verbal acrobatics won't cut it anymore. Time to pull out the big guns -- Diplomatic Privileges.
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20
The remnants of industry.
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1
THE RESULT OF PRIVATISED WASTE COLLECTION.
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1
The rubbish Tempo wanted to pretend didn't exist.
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The rusted catwalk creaks under every tread.
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1
The safety straps failed in their assignment.
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1
The satchel by the door is empty, but the rain boots haven't moved.
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150
The screens display source code in a language you can't place.
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1
The sculptor should be fired.
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1
The secluded booth, scene of countless intelligence trysts.
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1
The shoulder patch reads 'The Stars are Ours!'.
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1
The shrine is eerily still.
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57
The shutter is stuck halfway open, gears jammed.
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1
The sign promises fresh fish.
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1
The site of innumerable handjobs, as well as maybe some cushion-fucking.
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1
The skyline of Portofiro's crescent coast looms across the bay.
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1
The sleek metal callbox stands guard.
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162
The slogan's a poorly-aged relic of Project AUTONOMÍA.
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1
The smell of a box opened after decades, the air of another age trapped inside.
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1
The smell of ink hangs in the air, with an undertone of sewage.
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1
The soft glint of light on plastic.
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1
The soft sizzle of neon cottons your ears as you pass underneath.
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1
The sounds of plates clattering call to mind the first time you met Eszti. She's waiting for you in the corner of a restaurant occupying…
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18
The stall remains as haphazard as ever, its payment bucket near empty.
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355
The stereo is right where you left it.
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151
The strange noise is coming from a printer with a piece of paper stuck between its lips. You recognise the brand name: 'Sonatine'.
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7
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The script - ZERO PARADES - Page 21 of 26